


Wooing the Wildcat

by theLiterator



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Community: ante_up_losers, F/M, Germany, M/M, Military Spouse, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Sweet, Threesome - F/M/M, Weekend Getaway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/pseuds/theLiterator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jolene spies a lost kitten in the commissary, and Pooch can't <i>quite</i> convince her to leave him be.</p><p>It doesn't help that <i>he</i> wants to chase the kitten a little too, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wooing the Wildcat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katemonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katemonkey/gifts).



> Special thanks to my beta, T, and my best girl/cheerleader I for the title and summary.
> 
> You know you're in trouble when your two favorite people independently arrive at the same conclusion, really.
> 
> This is set in Heidelberg, Germany, late 2002; before Pooch and Cougar meet Clay and become Losers, making it movie-canon. But _pre-_ movie canon, so other than the timeline, it's comics kosher. I wish I had a real reason for the setting so I could notate it profoundly. I don't.
> 
> Please enjoy this, Kate. I hope I hit the note you were looking for.

“I want one,” Jolene said in a playful undertone, and normally Pooch would be _all over_ that tone of voice, but they were in the commissary and now was _not_ the time. He’d already seen two members of his unit and he’d bet anything there’d be a third by the time he got to the part of the trip where he checked that the milk was less than a week expired before he put it in the cart.

“No.”

“You didn’t even look,” Jolene said, grabbing the first three pizzas in the freezer and dumping them in the cart. Pooch scowled at her (not too fiercely; the Pooch wasn’t suicidal,) and checked expiration dates before he pushed the cart to the next aisle, where Jolene—

“So you’re new here? How are you liking the weather? I mean, I knew it’d be damp and all, but it’s November and there is frozen mud,” Jolene was saying, and Pooch resisted the urge to scowl more fiercely.

“Alvarez, what’s up?” he greeted. Alvarez was out of uniform, levis and a freaking cowboy hat and… “Oh, no.”

Jolene looked at him, and her eyes were sparkling. “We’re going to go home and have a nice sit down dinner—it’s my reward for him coming to the commissary with me. You and your wife should join us- We live over at PHV; and you said you were still in TLQ down there?”

Pooch shook his head frantically. His wife gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. Alvarez smirked, just enough to let him know that he was about to agree, but only because Pooch didn’t want him too.

Well, he was screwed.

But then, life’d been that way since basic; he’d _earned_ his nickname, fair and square.

“No wife,” Alvarez said, and Jolene smiled, slow and sharklike and every reason he’d married the hell out of her the second he thought she might agree.

“Well, that’s too bad. You’re still coming though, right.” It wasn’t a question; not because Jolene hadn’t intoned it as one, but because Jolene wasn’t going to give either of them any choice in the matter, and he wasn’t sure he minded, exactly.

***

“Alvarez,” Jolene was musing while Pooch cursed wildly from the driver’s seat. He was flipping off a BMW and cutting across lanes to the 535 with an alacrity that would have alarmed Carlos if he’d had any alarm left in him. He’d been in this damp, icy country for all of 48 hours without respite, and his sponsor had dropped him at the commissary with a bus schedule, and now Carlos had no alarm left in him.

Besides, Jolene would not allow herself to come to harm, he felt, so she must trust Pooch to drive with some degree of skill and safety.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied quietly. His hair itched. He hadn’t gotten it cut since basic, and people were bound to notice soon, so he avoided going places he couldn’t wear a hat, and his hair itched under his hat, and it fit all wrong.

Jet lag, he mused for perhaps the thousandth time, was a bitch.

“I don’t like it; it’s not cowboy enough. The hat, the 501s, the boots, you need something else.”

“Carlos,” he suggested helpfully.

“Hmm, maybe,” Jolene said. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something.”

“It’s going to be awful,” Pooch warned, and Jolene hit him. Hard enough that Pooch swayed with the impact; not hard enough that the ancient Opel swerved in traffic.

Carlos wasn’t really sure whether he should laugh or just be mildly concerned.

“Ten minutes,” Pooch announced, and Carlos nodded.

“Give me your ID,” Jolene ordered, and Carlos fished out his wallet, complied, and then sank back in the seat. He didn’t even realize he was asleep until they were gently pulling him from the car, her hands small and soft, his larger and stronger, and Carlos hummed a little and let them steer him, up three flights to obscenely tiny quarters and a broken down couch.

“We’re totally keeping him,” Jolene said.

“I _work with him,_ ” Pooch hissed, and Carlos wanted to contribute, to object to being kept, but sleep was too tempting right then.

He awoke to the smell of food cooking and a mug of coffee on the coffee table, and Jolene’s voice, warm and amused, piping through from the kitchen.

“Jet lag’s a bitch,” Pooch commented when Carlos stumbled into their kitchen, which was tiny and cramped and warm and perfect, and Carlos nodded.

“Too bad we don’t have a fourth,” Jolene said. “We could play Euchre.”

“You can play Euchre with three,” Pooch said, frowning.

“Better with four. Then you have partners.”

The food was good but not spectacular, and they ended up playing Euchre, which Jolene had learned from her spouses’ group last year and Carlos hadn’t even heard of before, and then Jolene climbed into his lap and kissed him quick and sweet, and didn’t seem surprised when Carlos pushed her away and leapt to his feet.

He looked from Jolene to Pooch and back again and muttered a quick apology (“Lo siento, lo siento, dios mio, que ha sido eso?”) and walked out of their quarters and into the chill, damp night.

At least he was on Patrick Henry Village and it was only a short walk back to lodging.

***

Pooch halfway expected to walk into work the next day to half of the office laughing at him and the other half trying to sympathize with him; it surprised him that the only awkwardness was the way Alvarez won't make eye contact and looked kind of miserable in the old concrete building that housed the motor pool. 

Pooch sighed and sidled up next to him. "You know what you're doing?" he asked, and Alvarez shook his head.

"C'mon, don't let on like that; they'll have you scrubbing the damned things. Here, this is the cap for the radiator fluid..." he said, leaning down over the engine and pointing. "Since the engine's cool, you could probably duck doing the _real_ shitty stuff topping those off. Or I could show you how to change the oil?" Alvarez shrugged, but he also moved closer, so that Pooch could feel the brush of his BDUs and smell the starch the laundry used underneath the heavy metal and oil stink of the motor pool.

"Look," Pooch said, when Alvarez's hands were busy in the third engine; the first one he was allowed to work on on his own, according to Pooch. "About last night--"

"I am very sorry," Alvarez said, and he wouldn't meet Pooch's eye, which could be because of the engine, but was more likely due to the conversational topic.

"No," Pooch said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let her..." and here he was stymied, because no one _let_ Jolene do anything. Jolene _did_. "I should have been more explicit about why Jolene wanted to take you home and feed you up," he settled for. "It wasn't fair of us."

Which was as close as he was willing to go to admitting what that invitation truly _was_ to Alvarez, who could always report him, and then where would he be? Article 15 and no re-up? Court Martial? Just laughed at until he decided it wasn't _worth_ the re-up?

Alvarez stared at him at that, though, and Pooch shivered a little. November in Germany was his least favorite anything ever, seriously. "You do not mind?"

Pooch shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I might have been a little more subtle, feel things out first, wine and dine, but. No?"

Alvarez nodded a little to himself. "Thank you for teaching me," he said, ducking his head slightly and Pooch wondered if maybe, by some miracle, Alvarez'd managed to make it all the way through basic and still be shy.

The fact of the matter, though, was this: Pooch was the wooer. Far be it from him to argue with Jolene about anything, but he'd had to develop some serious courtship skills to snag himself such a singular lady. These were skills she'd simply never needed, and the Pooch was fine with that. More than fine; if he ever found out someone had expected _her_ to court _them_ , well.

Except Alvarez, who was shy, and therefore extremely excused.

Besides; Jolene wasn’t going to court Alvarez, the Pooch was.

***

The thing about courtship was that it had to be completely individual to the person being courted. People who believed flowers and chocolates were a panacea for courtship needs were fucking morons, and the Pooch was not that dumb.

No, he had to find out, through whatever trickery needed, what Alvarez wanted most in the world, and then deliver it.

Within reason.

To this end, he started a list, which so far had the word “SHY” scrawled on it. After a few more hours of pondering (during which he fucked around, pretending to sweep out one of the empty buildings on post) he added “COWBOY” and “POTENTIALLY ESL” which weren’t particularly useful bits of information, but they were all he had.

At 1530, they were being told, individually and in groups of three and four, that they’d start training again tomorrow, get their weapons quals up to date ‘just in case’, which was bullshit-speak for “Iraq, here we come,” and suddenly Pooch had a deadline.

“Bullshit,” he snarled, and Alvarez jerked in response. “Not you, you’re doing fine. Fast learner, etc. etc.”

He didn’t elaborate.

***

He got home, still stymied, torn on telling Jolene about how close they really were (he wasn’t sure where the line between causing unnecessary worry and mandatory disclosure was; he needed a day to decide.)

“I’m making tamales,” she said. “You’re bringing your lunch tomorrow.”

When they’d first gotten married, the Family Readiness Group had been headed up by a very firm woman named Marian Gonzales, and she had adopted Jolene like the daughter she’d already had three of and taught her some of the best recipes Pooch had ever tasted.

Maybe Jolene _could_ do her own wooing.

“You think?” he asked, and she gave him a narrow-eyed look that he knew meant he would, at most, have the day to decide what he was going to tell her. “Tamales,” he said, forcing a smile just for her.

She was not impressed, but because she was amazing, she didn’t press him.

***

They ran that morning, full gear, twelve miles instead of ten, and Pooch thought about the near-strangers in formation around him, thought about what his mental lists about them might be.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered when they settled in to work on firearms quals. “I do not want to shoot.”

Alvarez had, through some mysterious means, conspired to share his bay. “You’re sneaky,” Pooch said approvingly. “I like it.”

“I do,” Alvarez said.

Pooch managed a soft hum as a response, but his M16 was just very slightly completely fucked up—the sight was practically listing sideways, seriously, it was just a problem of simple mechanics to sit it right.

“Want to shoot.”

“Don’t particularly like what it’s a prelude for,” Pooch said, and Alvarez nodded seriously, and the sick feeling in Pooch’s stomach settled a little bit. Sometimes he felt completely alone among the gung-ho infantrymen.

Alvarez had fussed with his own rifle probably more than he needed to, but when they cleared the range and gave the fire order, his paper target was obscenely perfect.

“You’re, like, immune to recoil or some other bullshit, aren’t you?” he asked. Alvarez shrugged, but the hint of a pleased smile stretched his lips.

“Lunch?” Alvarez asked, and Pooch was too relieved that he wouldn’t have to figure out how to ask _him_ to question any motives.

“Sure; I brought enough to share,” he said. “Jolene,” he added by way of explanation.

“What have you told her?” Alvarez asked, and Pooch had to shrug.

“Dunno what to say.”

“After Thanksgiving,” Cougar said. “Before the New Year.”

“Merry-fucking-Christmas.”

Alvarez shrugged.

“I wanna go see a fucking castle,” Pooch said. “You should come with me. Us. This weekend. I bet there’s a USO trip or something we can con our way onto.”

“Normally, I think you only pay them the required amount.”

“We’ll look for something inside that magic five-hour radius,” Pooch promised. “It’ll be great.”

“Will you tell her why?”

Pooch shrugged. They’d found a table, so he pulled out his lunch bag and offered the portioned out tamales to Alvarez. “I’m hoping to use you as a distraction.”

Alvarez blinked at him, and he _blushed_ which was just fucking beautiful. Pooch had to swallow hard to get over his own reaction to that.

“I will… I would like that?” Alvarez said. “But.”

“But?”

“Jolene is a very smart woman.”

Pooch frowned down at his tamales and ate them in uncharacteristic silence.

***

Jolene knew something was up. She was a little bit wary, but then, that was how it was. She’d ventured over to the Village Pavilion because there was an antiques show on, and she liked to look at the even more antique than you’d see Stateside furniture. Also, the smell of old wood and musty carpet was actually kind of nice. It loaned a sense of permanence to her life that she hadn’t been able to feel since she’d married Pooch.

Not that it was a decision she regretted—you meet a man like Pooch, you better be ready to keep him—but still. She’d _left the country_ for him. It was hard, and she still felt a little afloat at times.

One of the other spouses caught up to her while she was “tasting” the wine on offer.

“Jo!” she called, darting through groups of chatting women and the occasional man or toddler. “It’s terrible, right?”

Jolene stood still and pasted on a smile.

The woman, Karrie, she remembered, skidded to a halt. She had an enormous pretzel in one hand and a fake designer purse in the other.

“I mean, Tom is in training all this week! And Jennifer said she was absolutely certain they’d be gone by Christmas at the latest.” She said, breathless. “I just don’t know how Jen’s gonna handle it, with those kids of hers.”

“Jen’ll be fine,” Jolene assured her, automatic antiphon. Inside, she was floored. No wonder Pooch had been distracted.

She managed, somehow, to extricate herself from the conversation. As she made her way out of the building, the German man handing out brochures for Schloβhotels, much to his surprise, made a reservation.

What was €200, really?

***

When Pooch got home, there was a brochure on the sidebar that advertised “SCHLOβHOTELS! LOW PRICES!” in bright red letters.

He picked it up as he made his way into the kitchen, when Jolene was standing at the stove. She’d been there for a while, if he didn’t miss his guess. There were approximately a thousand cookies in various states of cooling on the counters, and Pooch didn’t ask anything; he just took the step that would bring him up behind her and gathered her against his chest.

“Don’t think,” she said in a low, rough voice, “that this gets you out of seducing Carlos for me.”

Pooch kissed the shell of her ear and pulled her in as tightly as he could. “For us,” he corrected, and she laughed and it sounded like crying, so he turned her around and held her and held her until the timer on the oven went off.

They skipped dinner: they had cookies, and she wanted something more substantial than food anyway.

***

The next day, Alvarez had been assigned as his battle buddy. “You’re the only one who can stand him,” his first sergeant said, handing him a little yellow card with useful phrases in Dari. “Or the only one he can stand. He’s good though; you’ll be fine.”

There were reasons and there were _reasons_ for being pissed as fuck about being assigned a battle buddy. Pooch didn’t have the heart or the tongue to explain his, not especially with knowing how very much his first sergeant could empathize.

In lieu of words, Pooch dropped Jolene’s brochure in front of Alvarez when he came out of his four-minute brief.

Alvarez tilted his head up so that his eyes were just visible under the brim of his cover. “This weekend?”

Pooch nodded.

***

Pooch drove them up. They had a map from the Esso station that Jolene hadn’t let Carlos touch, and the shitty little Opel had a nice enough radio that it was playing the MP3 CD Pooch’d made at work.

It was decent drive, two hours up past Mannheim, through tiny, picturesque villages and always with that magnificent view of the Rhine out the passenger side.

The hotel was definitely a castle, which Carlos felt he should have expected, but on the other hand, Germany had so far been nothing like what he’d expected at all, so what was one more surprise? And apparently dinner for two had been included in the reservation. 

The concierge hadn’t so much as blinked when Carlos had rolled out of the back of the Opel and donned his hat against the non-existent noontime sun; he’d simply whispered something in German to one of the women with him and she’d scurried off and Pooch had peeled off a couple of Euro banknotes from the stack in his wallet, and everything had been fine.

Carlos was pretty sure he and Pooch, at least, were still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But then, who would the concierge tell?

“Carlos, baby,” Jolene said. “You want to see the room first or do you want to eat?”

“Room,” he said, because he had sisters and a mother and knew when a request like that was really an order. Pooch’s relieved grin told him he’d been right.

The room was equally castle-like, with sumptuous furnishings and grand, carved armoires along the walls.

Carlos’s fingers dug tightly into the brim of his hat. There was only one bed.

“I love that about you Army boys, you know,” Jolene said, putting her hands on his shoulders and rubbing her thumbs lightly there. He leaned back into it, unable to help the soft noise of contentment the touch drew from his throat. “You want me to press harder?” she asked.

Carlos nodded and let his chin drop to his chest as her thumbs worked at the stiff lines of his trapezius.

“But yeah; you take your hats off inside. My daddy always said that was a sign you look for in a man. And all you dumb Army boys come along, showing off your little crew cuts and—well, you seem to be studiously avoiding a crew cut, but I like it.” One of her hands took a detour to ruffle his hair, and Carlos smiled where she couldn’t see it.

Pooch came out of the bathroom then, fresh clothes on and a flower in each hand. He offered the red rose to Jolene who laughed and took it from him and accepted the kiss he pressed against her cheek like it was no matter, and Carlos felt like a voyeur for a moment. Then Pooch offered him the iris he held in his other hand, and Carlos thought, maybe, if he offered his cheek, Pooch might kiss him too, but instead he accepted the flower and took a deliberate step back.

Pooch didn’t seem like he minded, just smiled happily and offered the bathroom with a grand gesture and a wink.

“He knows I am a man, right?” he asked Jolene in an undertone as she took the iris from him and withdrew a glass from one of the cabinets to set them in.

“Believe me, baby, he knows.”

Carlos nodded, and, tempted as he was to put his hat back on, he set it neatly next to the glass with the flowers to wait his turn for the bathroom.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, with Jolene and Pooch carrying the conversation. It wasn’t like they were ignoring him, either; just like they knew he wasn’t the ideal conversationalist were letting him contribute where he wanted to.

He didn’t really _want_ to; he enjoyed the way their conversation flowed around him while they split the wine and ate the food; he rubbed his thumb over the raised edges of the hand-painted vines on the edges of the plate and listened.

“I don’t want you to go,” Jolene said softly, and the atmosphere abruptly shifted. “I promised myself I wouldn’t say that, back when I was signing the license in front of the justice of the peace, and I’m sorry to spill this all over you on what is more or less our second date, Carlos, but—“

“It is not about want,” Carlos said. “It is need.”

Jolene laughed a little, and her tears were as pretty as she was, especially with that smile under them. Carlos knew, with that little laugh, that she would miss him too, though she barely knew him.

“Me and Jolene dated three months before we were married. Spent that last month researching the fastest way to get hitched,” Pooch said. “She understands need.”

“I could not love thee, dear, so much,” Jolene said, and Carlos puzzled through that statement though her tone said it was agreement.

Carlos lifted his glass to her in a silent toast.

Pooch smiled and clinked his glass against Carlos’s. “Yeah,” he said. “To Jolene.”

“I am pretty awesome,” Jolene agreed. “But how about to not getting your sorry asses shot?”

Carlos shrugged. “I shoot back,” he said. That was really all he could promise.

“Well, I’d better at least get some hot man on man action out of the bargain. Especially if you’ve only got another week or two with us.”

“After Thanksgiving,” Carlos said, repeating his prediction. “Before the New Year.”

“And we’ll sit in Turkey for six months waiting for the chain of command to get its head out of its ass and actually use us.”

“You think Turkey will cave?”

Pooch shrugged. “Be pointless not to. They’ve got border disputes with northern Iraq anyway.”

“ _We_ won’t cave.”

Pooch shrugged again. “Kuwait then.”

“Eat. This is a stupid conversation.”

Carlos ate.

***

The concierge pressed a bottle of wine on her as she was leaving. “It was made here in this town,” he said. “It is a _great_ wine.”

Jolene smiled and thanked him and put herself between him and her boys as they left the dining room. They were in a fragile place, and interacting with a stranger might put Carlos off.

Pooch took the bottle from her as soon as they were through the door. “Come on, shoes off, find me some glasses,” he said, gesturing grandly. “We’ve got wine and a honeymoon suite in a motherfucking castle.

 _Eat, drink, and be merry,_ she thought privately, but on the outside she was smiling and laughing a little, just like she was supposed to.

“Carlos, come here,” she said, and when he was once again within grabbing distance, she caught him by his lapels and loosened his bola tie one-handed. “I’d like to kiss you,” she said. “We only had that once and I think you misunderstood my intentions.”

Carlos opened his mouth, and she thought maybe he was about to apologize, so she pressed a finger to his lips. “If the next words from your lips aren’t either ‘Si, senora,’ or ‘No, thank you,’ with or without caveats, then I don’t want to hear it.”

Carlos smiled then, and damn did it make his eyes sparkle.

“Si, Jolene,” he said, and his voice was a low thrum that settled right in her gut. God but he was an attractive man. She stood by her initial assessment.

Then, then he kissed her, and he was very, very good at that. There was a warm hand on the back of her head and another at her hip, and his lips were soft against hers. Pooch was behind her and his hand covered Carlos’s on her hip so she groaned and then Carlos deepened the kiss until she could hardly breathe.

“Well,” Pooch said. “I suppose it would be gauche to demand my own turn,” he said. “But I’m probably going to any—“

Carlos had to push up to his toes and use her shoulders for leverage to get around her and at the right height to kiss Pooch into silence, but that was actually pretty hot too, and she tilted her hips so the full-body contact was _exactly_ right.

“Kay,” she said. “As much as I hate to break this up; condoms. Lube. These are things.”

Carlos pulled back and she stepped out from in between them, only for Pooch to pull Carlos back in for another kiss. Pooch, she knew, was also an excellent kisser, and watching him sweep Carlos off his feet was pretty outstanding.

This, this she had signed on for. She fumbled with her toiletries back and pulled out the lube and the condoms, setting them on the end table nearest the bed. Then she stripped off her clothes, and pressed up behind Carlos so she could undo his pants.

Levis with button flies were perhaps a little more arousing that necessary, but she pressed a kiss to Carlos’s neck and let the slow pop of the buttons add to that thrum of arousal in her gut. “Pooch,” she said. “Linwood, darling,” and Pooch broke away to look at her, pupils dilated and goofy grin on his face. “Don’t overwhelm him.”

“Mmm,” Carlos said. “I like overwhelming.”

Jolene laughed. “We have all evening, and tomorrow morning, and I want some wine.”

“I want to take off all of his clothes,” Pooch said with a hint of a pout. “Since you already cheated with yours.”

“Well, let me get my drink and watch you, then.”

Pooch pointed to another table where three wineglasses and the bottle sat, and she took the fullest. “Well?” she demanded, perching on the bed.

Pooch laughed and pulled Carlos in by the lapels as she had, and he started by looping the bola up over his head and dropping it.

She loved Pooch’s hands, and the way they smoothed the fabric across Carlos’s chest before he started working the buttons made her shiver a little. 

Once Pooch had shoved the shirt off his shoulders though, Carlos took a quick stride over to the bed and sank gracefully to his knees in front of her.

“Oh,” she said, and he smiled up at her very briefly. “Oh,” she gasped this time, and protested, “I wanted my show,” but her fingers curled in his hair and gave lie to that statement.

Pooch laughed and came up to them too, bending to kiss her, all tongue and teeth and making her gasp and press up against Carlos and reach for Pooch’s shoulder to brace herself.

“Not fair,” she muttered into Pooch’s mouth. Carlos laughed this time, and that made her whole body tremble, so she moaned and Pooch eased her down, re-positioning the three of them until they were all on the bed and comfortable and Pooch was kissing her and helping Carlos with his clever, wonderful hands, and—

Pooch had this _thing_ about kissing her through her orgasms, and she’d never understood it from his end but she really enjoyed it, enjoyed the way it made her work for each breath and brought sparkles to the edges of her vision.

It wasn’t really breathplay (they’d tried that. Pooch truly hated it, and she’d liked it but not loved it) but it was in the same universe, and it meant that when she broke, it hurt all over in all the best ways.

Her nails were digging into Carlos’s scalp and every muscle was still taut, but she forced herself to relax, to pull her hand free and stroke his hair, and he was smiling as he crawled up the bed. “Still want that show,” she muttered, and Carlos moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand but Pooch stopped him and pulled him up further and kissed him and she couldn’t help the groan there.

Pooch got Carlos the rest of the way undressed and while he removed his own clothes, Jolene ran a contented hand down Carlos’s body, feeling warm and possessive. Carlos was theirs now, certainly.

She was pretty sure the tamales had done it; the look on Marian’s face would be priceless if Jolene ever wrote her a thank you note.

Then Pooch was on the bed, covering Carlos’s body with his, and Jolene rolled up to her side so she could watch.

Pooch was gentler with Carlos than he was with her, which she liked. Carlos needed gentle in ways she never had, she thought; it had been obvious from that moment when he’d run out of their apartment last weekend.

“Hey,” Pooch said, “how far do you want to take this?”

“Jolene—“

“Didn’t ask her,” Pooch said. “This is good. You want to just keep doing this, we can—“

Carlos rocked up against Pooch. “No. Orgasms.”

“Well, if you insist,” Pooch said, amusement coloring his tone. He reached for the lube, and Carlos watched him, eyes huge in his face. Jolene watched Carlos. 

“You been with a man before, baby?” she asked, her words slurring a little as they passed her lips.

Carlos sent a wry half-smile her way. “Yes,” he said. “Not like this.”

“Yeah, they’re mostly assholes,” she said, scooting closer so she could curl around his side. He reached up to stroke her cheek, then down her shoulder and more tentatively to brush, feather-light, over her breast. “Mm, that’s nice,” she said, smiling for him.

Pooch came back, hands slick with lubricant. “I was thinking—“ he said, and Jolene interrupted him with an exaggerated gasp of terror, making Carlos chuckle. She could feel it through her chest where they were pressed close together.

“Oh, shut up,” Pooch said fondly. “Here, Alvarez. You okay with this?”

“Only if you do _something_ ,” Carlos said, and Pooch huffed, but he was still grinning.

“It’s not as much of a show, baby,” he said, kissing her cheek. “But do you mind?” She shook her head and pushed Carlos onto his side, and thought with some amusement that she was the big spoon here, and then Pooch settled down in front of him, chest to chest, and Carlos’s entire back went tense.

“Shh,” she said, stroking his side and feeling the muscles jump. “Pooch knows what he’s doing. We’ve got you.”

Carlos tipped his head back, and she propped herself up on an elbow so she could kiss him sweet and slow until he was gasping for breath, then she just stroked his cheek until Pooch had gotten both of them off.

“So very, very pretty,” she murmured. “And you said I couldn’t keep him.”

“Jolene, baby,” Pooch said, and he sounded _wrecked_. “Go drink your wine.”

Jolene laughed, and Carlos managed an exhausted smile.

She reached over for her wine and the book she’d left on the table, and when she rolled back, Carlos had wriggled down. He insisted on resting his head on her belly, and she liked how conveniently that situated his hair for petting.

“He’s worse than a damned cat,” Pooch muttered.

“Hmm,” Jolene mused. “A wildcat, maybe.”

“You’re fucking terrible,” Pooch protested, flopping an arm over his eyes. “What time are you setting the alarm for?”

“Shut up and go to sleep, _Linwood_ ,” she said, teasing and serious all at once.

Pooch groaned.

It always took her awhile to wind down after sex, but the warmth of Carlos pressed up against her (Pooch didn’t particularly care for post-sex cuddling unless they showered first) lulled her sooner than normal, so she put down her book and let herself be the little spoon this time.

***

Carlos wasn’t really awake yet, but he’d had an excellent dream following excellent sex, and Jolene’s throat was a smooth, exquisite column, and someone’s alarm clock was shrieking insistently at them, so he bent over and bit it, gently enough, so she gasped and pulled herself awake.

“Jesus, Carlos. You _are_ a damned wildcat,” she said, but she dug around on the floor and switched the alarm off so he could relax again.

“You gonna be calling him that now? Wildcat?” Pooch asked sleepily from behind him.

“Hell no,” Jolene said. “That’s a stupid nickname. No; he can be a Cougar.”

Pooch laughed and nipped at his ear. “I like that. But I’ve seen the bastard jump, so I know how well it fits.”

The reminder of the week’s shift into training activities sobered him, but Jolene didn’t seem to notice.

“Cougar?” 

Carlos smiled. He could be Cougar for them, if they wanted _him_ at least.

“Good. Do you have plans for Thanksgiving yet? Because if not, I’m calling dibs right now.”

Cougar shook his head and Pooch wrapped an arm around them both.


End file.
